The Most Wonderful Time of the Year
by Ersatz Einstein
Summary: It's been a couple of weeks since Christmas, and Jack is still torn in two by his schadenfreude and the joy of giving (or whatever). Sometimes a little holiday cheer can go a long way. I just wanted to do this fic, and it was the right time for it. I'm not Christian. Rated K for... I don't know. Please review!
1. Chapter 1

It had been a couple of weeks since the whole Christmas debacle. Things had more or less settled down, but the more settled they got, the less settled Jack got. It was strange, and this was for a town used to strange. Finally, he had announced to the town that he was going on a brief hiatus. The other nightmares and ghouls would have complained, but at this point, they expected a few eccentricities from Jack. He had placed Sally and the Mayor in charge of Halloween Town, which of course meant that she was in charge. She still had trouble believing that he'd given her the responsibility.

Now, however, that wasn't her biggest worry. Her main problem was that Jack had been gone for over a week. Finally, she decided to do what she should have done at the first: check his room for clues.

The garret was always a mess. She had no idea how a skeleton with one suit and no appetite could create such a shambles, but she was new at the whole "girlfriend" thing. This time, she was alarmed by the sheer number of Christmas ornaments that he had retained, both original and homemade. They festooned the room, presiding over a seemingly endless array of clothes, ornaments, toys, scientific instruments, and, inexplicably, pickles. Sally waded through the sea of refuse to the only object in the chamber that seemed to have a point: the desk.

Atop it she found assorted pieces of paper (crumpled up), a few notebooks (new and used), and a crisp, sealed envelope. Jack's spidery script was clearly visible in the red ink. She picked it up, and with a cry realized that it was addressed to her. She quickly opened it and began to read:

_My dearest Sally,_

_I'm afraid that I have some… troubling news. The fact is that I shan't be able to return to Halloween Town. Ever. For you see, in these past few weeks I've come to an epiphany: I am not needed here. Halloween's many devotees will continue on the tradition in my steed, and I have no doubt that you, my love, can well handle the workload._

_Unfortunately, I now realize that I no longer belong in Halloween Town. I won't say that I've moved on or that Halloween is beneath me, for in fact it is the opposite that is true. I no longer truly identify with the… Halloween spirit, as it were. I cannot think the way that is necessary to be a true creature of the night. Furthermore, it is needless to say that my recent actions were far too heinous to make Christmas an option for me. For fear of doing similar damage to another holiday, I daren't go through any of the other doors. Lastly, I cannot well survive in the wider world, as its people are still justifiably enraged._

_I have thus concluded that there is only one place for me now. By the time you read this, I will be long since gone. I know that you (and the Mayor) will run Halloween Town well and with pride. I love you._

_Humbly Yours, Jack Skellington_

She stared at the yellowed parchment in shock. _Jack, _she thought. _What's wrong? Where are you?_


	2. Chapter 2

**I usually don't do the whole "write to the readers in bold" thing, but what the heck. Thank you to my first two reviewers. The feedback was wonderful, and it formed the entire basis of this chapter. This is probably the fastest I've gotten feedback on any of my stories, and as a result, it's the fastest that I've updated. Thanks again!**

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Jack was cold. He was cold fairly often, lately. That was one of the problems with Christmas Town. He hadn't stayed long enough to figure that out the last time he had been here, but it was freezing.

Of course, he wasn't technically in Christmas Town, as such. It was simply that he had known that he would have to get through one of the doors to escape pursuit from concerned members of Halloween Town, and he couldn't resist the temptation.

He hated himself for it. He couldn't seem to resist anything lately. That was his whole problem, really. He had no self-control. He thought back to the events of just a few weeks ago. He could scarce believe that it had been that recent. How had he ever thought that attacking _Santa Claus_ was a good idea? Sally had tried to warn him, he well remembered, and he'd completely ignored her. He wanted to hit himself, but he was worried that if he did, he'd knock his skull off of his head.

Afterwards, he had been thrilled to get back to his old work. In fact, Christmas had given him some fantastic ideas for new haunts and screams. Halloween Town's clown had received more work than he'd had in years as Jack tried to incorporate his new vision of "slightly off" cheer into the Halloween Town tradition.

Sally had been extraordinarily helpful. He'd never noticed it before, but she had something of a natural intuition as regarded people. She could tell when the witches weren't working hard enough, or if the reason Jack was getting drowsy was that earlier the scientist had been sneaking things into his food. When Jack had asked her about these discoveries, she gave him explanations that seemed both elegantly simple and amazingly subtle. It had made him realize that he could count on her for anything.

Soon enough, he saw, he'd _have to_. For, in all honesty, he had been almost instantly plagued by the old spectre of his boredom, and it ashamed him. He couldn't stop hearing Santa's sarcastic warning before his departure via Boogie's chimney. The tone had been one of anger and disillusionment with the basic good nature of thinking beings. It had been almost as painful to hear as the admonition itself: "The next time you get the urge to meddle with someone else's holiday, listen to her! She's the only one who makes any sense in this insane asylum!" The problem was that he knew Father Christmas was right, intentionally or no. He would get bored, and now that he knew about the doors, he wouldn't be able to resist them.

The results would be nothing if not disastrous. Despite what he and Sally had told them following the incident, most of Halloween Town's spooks still believed that the experiment had been a tremendous success. They, much like Jack, would perhaps never be able to fully grasp what they'd attacked. Furthermore, Jack was their leader, and they weren't used to thinking for themselves. If he wanted to take over another holiday, they'd back him to the hilt. He had realized over the past few weeks that someone as immature and thoughtless as himself could not be trusted with that kind of absolute power. Watching Sally deal with the multitude of crises that popped up every day, he decided that he would at least have the sense to appoint a decent successor.

So he had written his note and quietly told Sally and the Mayor that he would take a short break. They had both been pathetically enthusiastic about the idea. They'd been worried about him, and they both thought that a vacation would do him good. Thinking about it now, his guilt only worsened at the thought of how he'd lied to them. Still, it was for the best. Sally was a far better administrator and a far more devoted public servant than he had _ever _been. Even when he had still enjoyed his job, he'd had trouble focusing on its less interesting aspects. The Mayor, for his part, would lend an air of authenticity to Sally's rule until the others had accepted her as their leader.

Jack, meanwhile, had headed for the forest. He knew that going back to Christmas Town (or anywhere else, for that matter) could be dangerous. He was a known threat. Still, he couldn't risk capture by solicitous friends, so he decided to try something new: hide outside the borders of Christmas Town.

It was really a brilliant plan. No one in Christmas Town was searching for him, so they'd have no reason to leave their lighted village to find him. Furthermore, anyone in Halloween Town worried enough to mount a search would be certain that he'd never return to the scene of the crime, as it were.

He was freezing, racked by guilt, and alone, but looking over at the little town that had ruined his life, he felt the same warmth and love that he had felt almost a year ago, when he'd come here accidentally. He smiled, then turned to find a deeper snowdrift into which he could burrow for the night.


	3. Chapter 3

Santa was brooding. This was a relatively new behavior for him, but not as new as one would think. Heck, it had become something of a Boxing Day tradition for him to have a good sulk, usually about how bored he was. By the next week he'd be back to normal.

Now, however, it was different. The elves, his wife, the reindeer… they all thought that it was because he'd seen the outside. That was true, but the reason that it implied was not. They believed that it was because after leaving Christmas Town, he'd realized how much he really wanted to leave, and that now he was more bored than ever.

That, most certainly, was _not_ true. The truth was that he'd always assumed that the outside would be different, but had never been entirely sure _how_. On some level, he'd tended to imagine that everyone was sort of like him. Yes, they did naughty things every now and then, but they were basically good people who would go home to bake cookies and sing carols at night. But seeing those… those _things_ had changed that. Not to mention the way the humans had treated them. He was still angry with Jack. Furious, in fact. But on some level, he knew that Jack had been trying to bring his own kind of Christmas cheer to the world, and maybe relieve that same boredom that Santa had often felt in the process. In response, the army had shot at him, had tried to _kill_ him, for the love of God! How was he supposed to go on with his life, bringing joy to these monsters, knowing that one slip-up could make them turn on _him_?

In short, Santa Claus was terrified.

Now, he stood in the kitchen of his cozy, simple little cottage, staring out the window. The tree lights were on and there was a fire in the grate, but the strings of lights outside allowed him a clear view out to the street. Elves were merrily preparing for next Christmas, cheerfully determined to make up for last year's mishap. It made him feel guilty and depressed. Guilty because he hadn't even _begun_ to make next year's list, and depressed because he couldn't help but wonder if things would ever be the same again, and he'd be able to look out at the domestic bustle without thinking of its photonegative in Halloween Town.

It didn't help that he had added to the work this year in insisting upon patrols and some slight training in self-defense for the elves. He told himself that it was for their safety, not his, but he couldn't fool himself. He would often wake up at night, gasping with fear, the stench of Boogey's burning insects fresh in his nostrils. When he did, he'd think about the little elves going on their little patrols, probably whistling, unable to understand what they were supposed to be doing. They'd be easy prey for any spook. The thought made him tremble, and he'd know that it was for his sake that he was afraid, not theirs.

_Go out for a walk, _he told himself. _The fresh air will clear your head, and maybe you'll realize that there's nothing to be afraid of._

Twenty minutes later, he was clambering over the snowdrifts outside of Christmas Town. He huffed and puffed, grumpily wondering if this was really worth the peace of mind. He carried a red lantern, and he couldn't help but ponder the possibility that it made him more conspicuous than usual. Perhaps if the elves built a road out here, they could keep it lighted. Besides, that would make it easier to walk in this confounded snow! Grumbling to himself, he happily condemned his rheumatism and whatever idiot had thought putting in a road was a waste of time.

These thoughts all left his mind as he ascended another snow bank and his heart almost stopped. There, in the snow, lay Jack Skellington, the king of Halloween Town. Santa rubbed his eyes for a moment to make sure that he was seeing correctly, then slowly inched forwards, unconsciously shuttering the lantern most of the way so that it wouldn't wake the Pumpkin King.

He successfully halved the distance between them before he tripped on an irregularity in the ground and stumbled, loudly yelling, "Coconuts!" He froze.

Jack swung around to stare at him. It took him a moment to get his bearings, but then he did something completely unexpected. He spun around and tried to run.

Santa, without being entirely sure why, chased the fugitive skeleton, who was helplessly tripping over himself in the deep powder drifts, trying not to fall. Finally, Jack collapsed, his bony hands slipping soundlessly into the snow as he struggled to stand. Santa walked forward to stand next to him.

"Is there something wrong?" he asked, barely hearing his own words through the confused fog of his mind.

Jack, with difficulty, shifted onto his back and looked up. "Santa," he whispered. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for anyone to s-see me. I… I j-just w-wanted to be left in p-peace. I-I'll leave, I promise. I won't bother you again." He looked down at his hands as he redoubled his efforts to escape. As a result, it took him a moment to notice the red-gloved hand offering him help in standing.

He sheepishly took it. "Th-thank you," he stuttered.

"Are you cold?" Santa asked abruptly. The question took him by surprise, so much so that he answered before considering.

"Yes, I am."

"Then you should come back with me. I have a warm fire at home, and I'd hate to think that Mrs. Claus had kept it going all day for nothing."

"I, um… well, I really should-" he gestured off to the horizon, his hand shaking.

Santa grabbed it and held it tightly. "Nonsense. You're coming with me." Jack still looked uncertain. "I insist."

"Well… alright."

Santa nodded and put an arm around Jack's bony shoulders. Half leading, half-carrying him, Father Christmas returned to the village, an act that would have been far more paternal and comforting had he not been muttering, "I shouldn't be doing this. Why on Earth am I doing this?" to himself.


	4. Chapter 4

Mrs. Claus almost fainted when they walked in. It took a couple of minutes of hysterical shouting and reassurances for her to settle down and "go check on the cookies." Jack couldn't help but notice her anger-filled glare as she left. As the self-proclaimed master of the evil eye, he was impressed. That didn't stop him from being extremely embarrassed at causing the argument. Seeing his discomfort, Santa smiled gently.

"She's just a little high-strung, that's all. She always worries about me, especially since…" He trailed off. There were a few seconds of awkward silence, during which he realized that Jack was covered (and filled) with melting snow, and as a result was quite clearly shivering with the cold.

"Here, why don't you get some of those wet clothes off, and I'll see if I have a robe you can wear?" Jack nodded meekly and started to fumble with his suit buttons. After making sure that the skeleton would stay upright, Santa nodded and turned to go to his room, only to see Mrs. Claus frantically gesturing at him from the kitchen. He inwardly sighed and changed course.

"Why is _he_ here?" she hissed.

"I don't know," he whispered back. "I don't, however, think that he's here to do us harm, and it would be unkind of us to-"

"Unkind of _us?_ Do you even hear yourself? He's a monster who kidnapped and almost _killed_ you!"

Unexpectedly, he found himself growing cross. "Listen, it wasn't his fault. He didn't want me to get hurt. It was one of the others. Jack… killed him."

"And you want to let a killer into our house?"

"Tut tut," he admonished, drawing himself up to his full height. "It's the right thing to do, and that's all that should concern us."

She sighed and returned to her baking. He noticed that she seemed to take a special joy in pounding the cookie dough with the rolling pin. He resolved to talk to her later.

He finally made it to his room and grabbed an oversized red robe, with which he returned to the sitting room.

Jack had removed his outer jacket and shoes, but had taken care to remain mostly dressed. He'd drawn his sodden sleeves up to his elbows and knees, and his wet things had been carefully placed by the door. He crouched by the fire, bony jaw clattering. He jumped a bit and stood when the other holiday leader entered.

"Why aren't you sitting down?"

"I… I didn't want to get your furniture wet." He glanced nervously to the kitchen.

"How much of that did you hear?"

Jack shook his head and began to rub his left arm, clearly reluctant to answer. Santa inferred what that meant himself. He sighed.

"Alright, then. Put this on while I move a chair closer to the fire." He raised his hand, silencing the faint sound of protest. "It's fine. You certainly won't get the chair wet, and I have plenty of robes." He tossed Jack the thick garment and walked to an overstuffed rocking chair. "Now, it'll probably be a little big on you, but that should be alright." He finally got the chair to the fireplace and Jack collapsed into it, clearly exhausted.

Santa looked him over. The thick red article of clothing was obviously too short for him, so he was curled up underneath it inasmuch was possible without stretching it out. Fortunately, it was too wide, so there was some extra cloth available to him. Wordlessly, Santa turned and left the room.

Jack took the solitude as an opportunity to survey the room. It was simply filled with Christmas things, and yet it was oddly tasteful. The fire in front of him burned brightly, a small tree in the corner was decorated with only a few lights, and a knitted red and green rug covered the floor. He couldn't help smiling. The novelty of warmth and comfort still hadn't worn off.

He was beginning to get drowsy when Santa returned with a mug of cocoa. With an effort, he straightened up to take it. Looking down at it, he frowned, then handed it back.

"I'm sorry, but I don't eat or drink. It'll go right through, and I don't want to get-whatever this is- all over your floor."

He looked up to see that Santa was eyeing him with more than a polite amount of curiosity. Now the fat man started and blushed. "Of course. My mistake," he said as he took the mug back.

With effort, St. Nick waddled over to another chair and turned it to face Jack's. (It also looked unimaginably comfortable, so much so that Jack wondered if such a thing were even possible outside of Christmas Town.) He sat back and steepled his fingers in a manner that, while it would have looked sinister for Jack, clearly showed that he was sunk in calm, serious thought.

"I don't suppose you would mind telling me why you're here." The question seemed to come out of nowhere, and it was so gently and matter-of-factly presented that Jack found himself automatically responding.

"I… I'm not sure. I d-didn't want to bother you, sir, but I guess that I didn't think this out t-too well. I never think things out," he added bitterly. He looked up, and was surprised to see that Santa looked more sympathetic than frightened at his outburst.

"Go on."

Jack nodded and took a deep breath. (He didn't really need to breathe, but the ritual was calming.) "Well, it's just that I had no idea what I was getting into when I… you know." Santa was resting his head on one hand, looking at him steadily. "And, well, I couldn't go back to running Halloween Town after _that_. I mean, what if I decided to do something equally stupid next year, or the year after that, or whenever I next get bored? What's so wrong with me that I get bored, anyway?" Struck by a sudden thought, he sat bolt upright. "Do _you_ ever get bored?"

It was Santa's turn to be shocked into an honest answer. "Yes, I do. Not as much, now that I've seen what it's like out there, but… yes."

Jack nodded and leaned back, clearly reassured, until he thought of something else. "Wait," he added, looking up. "Why not as much?"

Santa sighed and looked down. "I… I always thought that people were… were good, deep down. I never really thought about wars, or violence, or anything as such, I always just saw it in terms of naughty and nice. After what happened that seems… woefully inadequate. And giving presents seems like the wrong way to respond."

There was a long pause, broken only by the crackling of the logs in the grate.

"I'm sorry," Jack said abruptly. "I just… didn't know what I was doing. I know that that's no excuse, but it's the truth. I wanted to run Christmas, but I-I didn't understand it, and I almost ruined everything. I wish that I could live here sometimes, or somewhere like it. It's so different, so new." He sighed wistfully, gazing around at the bric-a-brac and decorations fondly.

Both speakers leaned back, lost in their own thoughts, Ten minutes passed.

"Who's running Halloween Town?"

"Sally. She's been… wonderful. I miss her."

The silence lasted a couple of minutes, and then there was a cry of "Of course! That's it!"

Jack sat up straight, surprised by the outburst. "What's it?"

"Don't you see, Jack? If Sally can run Halloween Town without you, why do you need to be there all the time?"

"What do you mean?"

He couldn't resist a segue into rudeness. "I mean, bonehead, that you could spend time here whenever you get bored."

Jack looked up in shock. "Wait, what?"

"You heard me! Why, it's perfect! You could visit here every so often, it would make both of us that much less bored-" _And,_ he added mentally. _It will be reassuring to know when Jack is here. _

"That's brilliant! Hang on, are you sure that-" he gestured to the kitchen "- everyone here would approve?"

"They'd get used to it," Santa asserted. "They'll have to."

Later that evening, Santa waved as Jack passed through the portal back to Halloween Town. _So that's where it is,_ he thought with satisfaction.

Then, with a spring in his step, he walked back home to start this year's list, secure in the knowledge that even in the heart of a true monster lies the capacity to love and respect the joy of Christmas. Knowing that, what is there to fear from ordinary men?

_The End_


End file.
